Desert Rebels
by Laon Kame
Summary: Suud rebels rile up the Badlands a few years after the Hrum allied themselves with Farsala, taking more than a few lives in the process. Now, Kavi is forced to go and make an appearance. Mild KavixSoraya, Onesided AbabxSoraya. Being continued/revised.
1. Chapter 1: Kavi

**A/N: Chapter one, revised, again. Many thanks to Kara, my great beta-she's helped with the story progression and with the story's flow a lot, even though it's just the first chapter. **

**In other news, I'm just going to yank all of the original a/n's out since the story won't follow the original's chapter progression quite to the T. It'd be kind of awkward, no? There's a lot stocked up to happen, so please enjoy! I plan to get out at least a chapter a month, so please be patient.**

**_Disclaimer: The Farsala Trilogy and all associated characters, settings, and plot are exclusive property of Hilari Bell and her publishers. I do not make any sort of monetary gain from this fanfiction, nor is this fanfiction meant to affect Bell's original work negatively in any way. _  
**

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Chapter One

_-Kavi_

Maybe, Kavi reflected, this was not a good idea. He had been traveling in the general direction of the Badlands from Setesafon for a few weeks now, and he had to wonder whether the Suud would still welcome him into the desert after his absence for the past few years. But truly, he had no choice—he had to see the deghass. Or, he mused, the Lord of Lightning.

But, even as he reached to final cursed cliff he would have to descend, his amusement faded. It didn't help that as soon as he began the treacherous path, his nerves prickled with a sense that he was being watched—and the eyes were not friendly.

The desert had been in chaos for a few months now. Suud rebels had been slaughtering the foolhardy miners that entered the desert, and it was unclear whether or not the Suud were helping them or restraining them—there was no one who could report back, after all. The unrest had started even before Kavi had given the gift of metal to the desert people, but even so, he couldn't help but feel as if part of this mutiny had been his fault. Regardless, those who stepped into the desert never came back.

But even as that was, the fools who pursued the mythical superior ore continued to travel into the desert. A few miners went missing, which had been normal, until the few escalated to more than fifty lost traders, leading to the only conclusion: the desert was unsafe for any to travel. So, because no one else with the authority to hold any sort of diplomacy with the Suud could be spared, Kavi was chosen—against his own will, really—to go and find some sort of compromise that didn't involve killing Farsalans.

With a steadying breath, he looked over the edge of the cliff that divided Farsala and the Badlands, to find the dizzying trail below, almost hidden in the setting sun's shadow. Although he had a map this time around, he still couldn't quite believe that he had descended it once before, albeit four years ago—almost five now. His twenty-four years weighed down on him as he inched onto the thinner side of the trail, before stepping carefully quick until the path widened and he could breathe. It seemed narrower; had the desert eroded it away? Or was he just fatter now?

Kavi snorted at himself. _A fatter target._

He briefly questioned his sanity in visiting the Suud alone with nay but a dagger, fresh clothes, and a writing kit to report in his pack. After all, what was the chance of a crippled man making it out of the desert alive with a peace treaty in hand while other, healthier and whole traders in groups had gone missing? And with winter coming on, no less? At least the last time he had been to the desert, Duckie had accompanied him.

The memory made Kavi wince from the stab of loss. The stubborn mule had been careless. It hurt to remember that incident, but he was reminded of it everywhere he traveled. No one would be so rude to ask him openly about Duckie, but the faces that inquired about the mule's absence were enough to make him feel horribly in the center of attention, even after two years. Duckie had been old, too old, to be playing with the ducks. One misplaced foot had told it all—Duckie would heal, but not completely. It would hurt every Flame-taken moment, even worse than Kavi's own crippled hand. So, even though he was sorely tempted by those who had offered to take care of the mule, Kavi did the merciful thing and speared her through.

An arrow thudded at his feet at the next step he was going to take. The path crumbled away in front of him, creating a large, jagged hole less than a hand span away from his feet. He scrambled backwards, giving himself a buffer from the unstable cliff path.

Fear was Kavi's first reaction, but relief was in quick succession. Even if the arrow had been meant for him, he would be dead if he had taken that step and fallen. Plus, he knew how fast the Suud were with bows—a second arrow would have struck him by now. He _had_ been right about the cliff path, and someone had saved him from it.

"Wait there!" A strangely familiar voice called out to him. A strangely familiar feminine voice, or rather, a voice that belonged to the very girl he had been seeking.

"Where do you think I could go?" he retorted easily to the deghass. It had been a long time since anyone had really tried commanding him. The ex-slave deghans and deghasses couldn't talk back to him, or more accurately, they were too afraid of being sent back to the Hrum. Honestly, Kavi had been thinking that they would start demanding their noble status back, but, he mused, they didn't stand a chance against the peasants who were now armed and ready to fight back, courtesy of Commander Jiaan.

Besides, Kavi was promptly surprised out of his thoughts—and wits—when Soraya's face appeared from the ledge. She swung up easily, as if she were used to climbing unstable cliffs, clearly enjoying his reaction to her sudden presence, Flame take her. He was trying not to gape, which was a trying task, considering the circumstances. Almost as suddenly, he felt himself take stock of the differences this Soraya was from the one he had last seen, two years ago in a chance meeting outside of Setesafon. He shouldn't be surprised at anything, Kavi amended, not after seeing her as a slave in the Hrum camp.

Soraya was calm. Comfortable. He could go as far as to say that she was… elegant. Even though her clothes had no overstuffed jewels and heavy silks, confidence radiated from her and made what she wore as fitting as those had been on a deghass—something she wasn't anymore, he realized. It was a white robe that wrapped around her like a simple shift, connecting at the shoulder and ending right above her knees to thankfully offer her more modesty than other Suud women. She had kept her hair short, just below her ears, which was probably the only unfeminine part of her. This Soraya wasn't so bad, he realized. It lacked even the residual snobbishness from before. And with sudden recollection, Kavi was reminded of Maok. She was like Maok.

Putting himself back together from the shock, Kavi closed his mouth. "And how did you get up here?" It was a stupid question, really. Kavi had no doubt she had used the Suud's magic.

And apparently, Soraya knew the same as she scowled at him. _Ah. Some of the old spirit. _"I spoke to the rock's shilshadu."

Kavi suppressed a chuckle from his next thought, but said it aloud anyway. "So you're the Stone Lord now?" Obviously, he couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. Somehow he knew that this meeting should have been much more solemn, but he couldn't help reverting back to old habits.

The scowl turned into a glare, reminding Kavi that she was, for the most part, the only person who could get him to the Suud unscathed. He shut up, and she continued, "Are you ready to climb down?"

Kavi suppressed what would've been a well-timed snort. Of course, only she would assume that he could do something so seemingly impossible. However, to question her would do a fool justice. Yet ironically, to blindly step to unstable rock would do a fool even more justice—with death.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" Contrary to what she regularly would have done, Kavi was sure, she had waited for him to answer. "I won't wait until the night falls for you to move."

A thousand retorts leapt to Kavi's tongue, but he chose the mildest. "After you." She glared at him ferociously, then, without a hesitant bone in her body, swung her legs off of the ledge, and stepped onto one of the aforementioned unstable rocks. Instead of caving in, the rock held her weight, Kavi observed. He was still surprised, even though he knew of the Suud's magic. It seemed that he couldn't really understand it, being away from the supernatural for so long. It was probably this reason why he was so jerky in his movements to follow her. She wouldn't let him die, he knew, even though she would never admit it in so many words. But he still hesitated. Doing something one was almost certain resulted in death went against almost every instinct in Kavi's body.

But, in the end, he grabbed his pack, and secured it tightly to his back. Then without another thought to intimidate him from taking action, he, too swung his legs off of the ledge and onto the exact same niche the deghass had. It held. Reassured, he put his other foot down, and at last, let go of the only stable ledge within his reach. It helped that the cliff wasn't a sheer wall, but it was still a long drop.

He almost sent himself plummeting to his death when a hand took his right foot. He looked down—it was the girl's. "I can't talk to it to make the whole place steady," she explained, though her tone held no sympathy, only a certain coolness, the strength and hardness of stone.

Kavi sighed. It would be harder for two people, it seemed. It didn't help that his crippled hand couldn't even hold a pen, much less a cliff face. Still, it clung to the crevices in the jagged rock for some semblance of balance.

Holding his breath, Kavi lifted his foot from the niche. The hand didn't pause, and he was guided lower. Then his other foot, as his hands followed the trail. He made do with an awkward crab's walk, for his crippled hand soon couldn't handle the strain, and he was forced to lean on the cliff itself for support. Then finally, he brought his foot down and it touched sand. They had made it down alive.

Kavi dislodged himself from the cliff face, then turned around as he massaged his taxed left arm. He was abruptly faced with spears to his neck, which were almost immediately pushed out of the way by his companion's hand. He backed away carefully as Soraya took her place in front of him, speaking angrily in Suud to the group of three men that had clustered there. Kavi, for one, was not fluent in the language, so he could not understand what she was saying because of her speed, and, simply because of the vocabulary that she used. But he got the main gist of the message: _I told you to stay at camp, you blockheads! _Somewhere in the middle of her heated conversation—he hadn't really listened due to his lack of knowledge of the language—he realized that she commanded them. It was in every posture she took, and the respect they gave her as they bowed their heads.

However, throughout the whole speech, her voice had remained as quiet as the desert's calm winds. Then with a final snap, she changed her tone, giving orders. It seemed that it was a trait her family possessed—Jiaan certainly didn't mince words in the letters they had exchanged on Farsala's welfare.

He was abruptly addressed by the deghass, obvious displeasure emanating from her. "Give one of them your pack. They deserve some weight." Kavi couldn't say he didn't want to comply; after all, he had just climbed down a cliff with the thing on his back, yet he pitied the heavily robed men. The sunlight was still there, but it most of it was still disappearing on the horizon. It would be a bother for them to have to take the pack right then, and still, Kavi didn't want to be in their debt, even _if _the she-bitch (of which the deghass still proved to be) said that it was fine.

He made no reply, deigning to keep the pack on his shoulders. She did not insist, and it was left in silence as one of the men started leading the way. They followed in a disorganized troupe, with Kavi most of the time in the middle of it, out of the way and safe.

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**A/N: Nothing much has changed from my original, but alas.**

**Spoilers:**

**-Soraya went to the Suud once the war with the Hrum was over. **

**-The "Lord of Lightning" nickname was coined when Soraya unceremoniously blew Garren to pieces with lightning.  
**


	2. Chapter 2: Soraya

**A/N: second chapter. The series is going to take a much slower progression than the original version so that it patches up well, and if I need to make changes, it'll be easier. Thanks again to Kara, my beta, who I've gone over this chapter with countless times already. Maok's alive again, in this version. :) Thanks for reading! It may be just folly to rewrite a 20k unfinished story, but I feel as if I've gotten so much better at writing because of it. **

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Chapter 2

—_Soraya_

It had been no real surprise that the peddler had come to the desert. Soraya frowned. _Of all the stupid things to do, they had to send the one man that Farsala can't afford to lose._ In fact, it was only sheer coincidence that they had met at that cliff—Soraya had been on her way to Farsala herself to explain the situation, to ward off any idiotic reconnaissance mission like the one Kavi had been sent on. She could have made it back up the unstable cliff by herself, but with the man she wanted to talk to right before her eyes and not in a position to make any claims to the Farsalan Council, she was stuck. They could have both gone up the cliff, but with the path being so unstable that the ledge broke underneath an arrow (it was a miracle that the man hadn't fallen through), and how Soraya had only reached the stone's shilshadu a month ago, she wasn't confident that she could hold two people going upwards instead of down.

If they had stayed any longer in the growing darkness, Soraya wasn't sure if they could have escaped the blood-hungry Suud rebels. It was lucky that she had headed to the same cliff Kavi had been descending—the entirety of the crags that separated Farsala and the desert were always watched. The fate of the Councilherd would have been in completely different hands if she hadn't been there.

They had reached the camp a mark ago, and the peddler was just getting settled with a small plate, sparse with some bread and edible desert vegetation. It was breakfast for the Suud, after all. Soraya had no doubt that he was much hungrier than he let on, but surprisingly, the peddler had no qualms, instead nodding his thanks and eating slowly.

Not far away, Soraya sat near the fire in front of her own hutch, distracting herself by playing with the flames. She eradicated her demanding impulse to engage in a conversation with Kavi; she would wait until he was finished. Instead, she found the dancing hunger inside the fire's shilshadu with ease. As of late, she had mastered her control over most elements—not all of them, like that silent voice of stone—but most. With just a breath, she could open her shilshadu to everything around her, making the world around her vivid and brilliant with life.

However, lately she had begun to tap into the air's shilshadu without conscious thought, which made it the hardest to control. The air possessed the most… _human_ shilshadu of all the elements, and its lack of form allowed it to dance to whatever emotion Soraya experienced. Without clamping down forcefully on her shilshadu sensing, Soraya couldn't tell when she was influencing the air's tune. But it was a difficult thing for her to do—to realize that she was connected to everything and then to cut off that self-awareness—it was like losing the ability to feel, or the sense of smell, or becoming blind.

She felt Kavi's presence approach, and reluctantly, she withdrew her hands from the flames. Delicately, she brushed the stray embers from her palms, setting them back where they could indulge in their dance and their joy. With a fading smile, she disengaged from her shilshadu trance.

Looking up, she saw Kavi as she had seen him last—with short, brown hair, equally brown eyes, features holding neither that of the distinctly handsome nor the disfigured ugly, but a face that she would always remember, even in this dim firelight. Soraya didn't hide from the fact that she'd committed his face to memory before for the sole purpose of finding and killing him. It wasn't a bad ability, to be able to pick Farsala's key man out of a crowd.

On that too familiar face rested that same hint of discomfort she remembered him having whenever she touched fire, but his expression mainly held onto a firm, candid smile. It wasn't an easy one, not by a long shot, but the circumstances that had brought him here gave him plenty of reasons to be tense. Nor were they friends—Soraya couldn't remember a time when the atmosphere between them had been _easy_. "I'm glad I ran into you," he said as he sat down next to her. It was a polite distance.

She didn't return the smile, instead staring into the fire, legs crossed, as she was again reminded of how stupid the Farsalan council was, to send this man here. "The desert isn't safe," she replied. She looked at him, searching his tired features. "I'll tell you everything I know about what's happening, but you have to go back. Farsala can't afford to lose you." Her tongue curled around the familiar yet foreign Faran syllables. She had taught the Proud Walking Clan—_her_ clan—Faran, but they rarely used it. Speaking it again felt like wearing beloved clothes long forgotten. Comfortable, but not missed.

He raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't you send me straight back up that cliff?"

She grinned ironically. "I was on my way to find you, to tell you all I know about what's happening." The grin slipped from her face. "I couldn't have done that with night approaching. You would've been killed."

Despite her dry humor, his smile disappeared.

It took a moment for Soraya to recognize that his silence meant for her to continue. The Suud were hardly as polite, or as quietly compelling. It was nice, she realized. Almost as nice as it was strange. "They call themselves the Bao'mok." It was a stupid play on Suud words—the original bao'ok, the man-hunt, and mok, the equivalent of the logical right, or correct, or what was supposed to be. To them, killing is the right thing to do, she thought, disgusted. "I don't know how many people they're made up of, but their motivation is to stop any more Farsalan invasions." She gave him a pointed look. "By killing any Farsalan that comes into the desert."

It was a risk to bring him to the tribe, but a risk that she had taken nonetheless. The Bao'mok hadn't attacked any Suud clan so far, but then again, no Suud clan had sheltered any Farsalans since they had begun killing. They had no intention of hurting their own—at least, that was how their supporters had conveyed it to Soraya.

Granted, she wasn't exactly native to the desert either, but they hadn't attacked her for being a Farsalan. Yet. All of the Suud knew that she wasn't from the desert—how could they not see it? Her skin was tan, and her hair? Black. Still, she had been with the Suud for years! She was one of them now, in spirit—_shilshadu_—if not in body. It was ridiculous for Abab and his friends to think that they should have had to protect her when she was traveling alone out of the desert.

"Should I be expecting assassins in the night?" he only half-joked.

She gave him a skeptical look, and his grin faded. He had seen himself how her desert tribesmen could disappear into the night.

"What do the Suud council have to say about this?" he asked, serious once more.

Soft footsteps approached, alerting the both of them to another's presence. "Nothing," Maok sat down next to them, nimble despite her aged appearance. Soraya smiled at her teacher in greeting, while the peddler simply nodded. Nothing much had changed about the old woman in the four years Soraya had lived in the desert. While she had grown taller (only a little, regrettably) and into the twenty year-old she was now, Maok had remained the same—resilient, strong, and vivid with vitality.

"Why not?" Kavi asked. "They can't have a group running around, killing people indiscriminately. By the Wheel, that's begging for a war."

"If you let me speak, I will tell you." Maok's tone held the edge of someone dealing with something that needed unnecessary perseverance, and the peddler flushed. Soraya hid a grin. He probably didn't have people telling him to be quiet these days. "Our council does not meet regularly, and to meet takes time to find all the members, all from different tribes. We also are divided in what to do. The Bao'mok do not hurt their own, and many of the people wish for the same thing as they do. The men that dig have never been welcome, but still they come."

Kavi opened his mouth again, but was silenced by Maok's look. "Killing is not our way. It is the young and the foolish that do this. Some had their men killed by your miners, some their children, and more have been hurt. They do not see that killing is not our way," she repeated. "Yet, how are we to stop them, when our ways have not worked?"

With a nod, Maok signaled that she was finished.

Kavi looked thoughtful. "It's already illegal to come here and mine metals, but stopping anyone on their way to the desert is pointless. It doesn't take much to say that they're just going to the desert for some herbs, or even to hunt—nothing outside the law."

Soraya frowned. "But they'll have picks and shovels for mining. It's not that hard to judge that they're miners."

The Councilherd nodded agreement. "It's not that hard, sure, but we hardly have a perimeter of men to stop folk from coming into the desert."

Soraya raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the army Jiaan raised?"

Kavi sighed. "They've been gone for years. The threat of the Hrum and their Flame-begotten draft were what made them into Farsala's army—and Commander Jiaan, too, but both of them are gone."

Both points were true. Jiaan had been gone for four years, at first in Kadesh, and then to the lands beyond. The last she had heard, the Hrum had conquered yet another nation after the siege on Kadesh. For all she knew, Jiaan could be countries away. She was about to ask Kavi about his whereabouts when suddenly a wide, jaw-splitting yawn broke over his face.

It was surprising to feel a jab of consideration tap her conscience, and she almost said, "You should get some sleep," before she caught herself. He had probably walked quite far to make it here before nightfall. But then again, she hadn't had news of Merdas and Sudaba, or of Jiaan, for two years. She could have visited Farsala much more often—hid there, away from the Bao'mok, like Elid had told her to. She could have lived with what remained of her family. She could have, but she hadn't. It was with regret that she stifled her out-of-place concern.

However, it was a surprise that Maok was the one who said, "You must rest."

The Councilherd shook his head. "No, I have to write a report saying I got—" Another yawn. "—into the desert safely." To Maok, he asked, "Would it be possible for me to send a message through one of your lads? All they would have to do is fire an arrow with my message attached to it up the cliff. There should be a man that collects it tomorrow morning."

Maok grinned. "Clever, very clever. Yes, Abab can do that for you while he hunts."

"You should be leaving tomorrow morning, not staying," Soraya protested. Even though the danger was still unconfirmed, she was uneasy about having him in the desert. She had seen the withered bodies of miners in the rock mazes; the offhand picks and shovels in paths far too deep into the desert for any Farsalan to make it out alive.

Her teacher looked at her with eyes dancing with amusement. "The Bao'mok have never attacked one of their own, girl. It is no trouble to keep him here for a night or two."

Kavi's expression lit up with gratitude. "Thank you."

"Go, join the hunt," Maok instructed Soraya. Turning to Kavi, she said, "You, come with me. We have extra room for you with the children."

The peddler rose to catch up with the receding form of the old woman, while Soraya sat for a moment more near her fire. Then, with a sigh of defeat, she went inside her hut, took her bow and arrows, and headed outside of the camp. The moonlight was strong tonight, so she should be able to get some hunting done.

She was unsurprised to see Abab waiting for her on the trail she usually took. "I don't need a chaperone," Soraya said in Faran.

Abab smiled. "Who said chaperone? I like to hunt with you," he replied, also in Faran, falling into step with her easily. Like her, he had also grown in the years that they had lived together, and maintained his height with hers—their footsteps matched with every stride they took. And unlike most of the tribe, he had picked up Faran the most.

Soraya sighed, resigned. She hadn't been able to leave the camp without someone else following her for the last year, and she doubted she could outmaneuver Abab, much less any adult Suud. Although she had lived here for four years, and even though she prided herself on keeping up with the rest of the Proud Walking clan, she could never be able to fade into the desert quite as easily as the rest of them.

In Suud, he said, "I am glad that Kavi has come back."

Soraya snorted.

He waved a finger at her, something, she realized with a little annoyance, he had learned from her. "Don't pretend you aren't. You're a bad liar."

She grinned reluctantly in response. Abab knew her too well these days.

They walked in silence before he spoke again. "You didn't tell him about Lupsh."

"No, I didn't," Soraya replied evenly. A faint desert breeze tickled the nape of her neck. Lupsh, the first Suud to fashion a watersteel blade under the Kavi's instruction, had joined the Bao'mok a few months ago, and soon after, the group had begun to forge watersteel swords. The Proud Walking Clan had kept the technique a secret from all the other clans—Maok had said something about the Council deeming it unnecessary to their desert's way of life—and had never made more than a handful of swords. They did teach the other clans how to forge, but not watersteel.

Soraya couldn't understand why Lupsh had left. Recalling the day when the entire clan stood in shock as Lupsh's mother explained that he had joined the Bao'mok and would not return until the Suud were free sent faint chills of alarm into her body. He was her friend, a cheerful and dedicated man who had just reached adulthood two years ago. He had even befriended a few smiths in Mazad during the Hrum's siege. Why would he join the group so determined to kill all Farsalans in the desert? What reason had enough power to make a man like Lupsh help murderers?

"He doesn't need to know about it," she said, her cool expression unchanged as she tasted a muted, bitter sense of betrayal. With fierce control, she trapped those feelings away. "All he needs to do is go back and tell Farsala that they should just leave the desert alone."

Abab made a small "hm" noise in response.

"Besides, Maok has an assignment for you," Soraya said, referencing Kavi's report.

Abab smiled when his eyes caught hers. They held no judgment about her decision to avoid the topic of Lupsh. "That can wait until morning. For now, we hunt."

Soraya grinned in return, as she allowed herself to relax under his acceptance. As she did, a light breeze she had grown accustomed to faded, and she realized with a hint of distress that she had tapped into the air's shilshadu. Impatiently, she shut the door between her spirit and everything else. It never happened with water, or fire, or trees—with each, she could only feel a few emotions before they disassociated with her shilshadu. Feeling a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach, she glanced at Abab. He looked at her with an unspoken question, and she smiled reassuringly. She would worry about control later. Abab was much more in tune with the shilshadu of others, despite his lack of skill with fire. If she were troubled for too long, he would know.

Because she was troubled. Deeply so.


	3. Chapter 3: Jiaan

Chapter 3

_—Jiaan_

Jiaan ducked under the tent flap, boots skirting a mud puddle that was forming from the morning's light winter rain. He walked towards Rakesh, a second pack ready to be strapped to his saddle.

Kadesh looked remarkably better than it had two years ago, when Patrius had laid claim to the land as Governor. Originally, Barmael had been the primary candidate to rule, but he had declined the position in favor of continuing the Hrum's military conquests. The army had breathed a sigh of relief—Barmael was the best tactimian they had, and while Patrius had been a loss, Barmael's tactical and strategic expertise were irreplaceable. In fact, with it, the Hrum had conquered Rubel, a small nation beyond the borders of Kadesh, in just a month.

It was Barmael who had commanded the relentless siege on all of the Kadeshi warlords once Farsala's alliance with the Hrum was finalized. Almost immediately, he had sent back all of the soldiers weary from the war with Farsala and had a fresh set of ten tacti ready to obliterate the Kadeshi raiders, who, as the peddler had predicted, had came to undermine both Farsala and the Hrum. In the meantime, Jiaan's army had held them off. Once they had been taken care of, the Hrum, plus his soldiers, were at the borders of Kadesh within days, under special pardon given them by the Council to travel through Farsala by land instead of around by sea.

The villages had surrendered immediately. Horrible pity had consumed Jiaan when the peasants threw themselves at the Hrum in welcome, in begging cries for salvation. All except the Kadeshi warlords embraced the invading army—but even their deep wells were drained in four months of relentless siege. Patrius had been assigned the job of keeping the patrols tight, and with some of Jiaan's, and the Farsalan army's, suggestions from knowledge of Mazad's resistance, the patrols caught every attempt to smuggle in food, and every attempt to smuggle a warlord out. Less than one hundred lives had been lost in the subjugation of Kadesh.

So, since Barmael had declined the title of governor, Patrius, as the second most crucial tactimian in the war, had been given the responsibility of reshaping Kadesh's future. Jiaan knew the Kadesh would be better off under Hrum rule—not only because of the Hrum's standards and organization, but because Patrius had proved, time and time again, that he was one of the best men that Jiaan would ever meet.

Jiaan finished tying the bag to Rakesh's saddle, but not before his warhorse stomped a hoof impatiently. He smiled and said, "Just one more, and we'll be heading home."

It had been two and a half months since the Councilherd's last letter about speculation of going to war with the Suud. Usually, it took two weeks to deliver the reports back and forth between Rubel and Farsala, so between Jiaan's letters and Kavi's, they were only able to communicate about once a month—Kavi kept Jiaan updated on Farsala's plans, while Jiaan gave him news of the Hrum's advance.

Jiaan had sent multiple letters in response to the Councilherd's last report, but it had been Siddas—now the governor of Mazad—that had sent word that Kavi was in the desert, on a mission to quell the Suud. It was foolish to send Kavi into the desert, away from his real duties, Jiaan thought, because without the Councilherd, Farsala would head towards chaos. If there were even a fraction of the disagreements Kavi had mentioned in his letters, how would the Council compromise without him?

It was a stupid move, and why they would agree to it, Jiaan didn't know. Why _Kavi_ would agree to it was even more of a mystery. At least, if he made contact with Soraya… But was Soraya still alive? Had the rebels killed her too, for being a Farsalan?

He skirted the mud puddle again on his way back to his centrimaster's tent, troubled with a newfound sense of urgency. However, Jiaan was surprised to see Governor Patrius standing, relaxed, in front of the entrance.

"Patrius. It's good to see you." he greeted warmly in Hrum. He could speak it fluently now.

Patrius smiled in response. Jiaan motioned for him to enter the tent, and together they sat. Patrius's smile, however, faded. "What's wrong?" Jiaan asked. He understood Patrius very well—it had taken a year for the tactimian to break down from the strain of conquering and ruling Kadesh, but when he had, Jiaan was the one who had witnessed it. He'd gained more insight into Patrius's mind than he had ever needed, but now, Jiaan could see that his friend was troubled through the faint lines that strained across his face.

The Governor of Kadesh shook his head. "I'm just sad that I will be missing a very important friend in the months to come."

Jiaan hadn't told him about his departure. He kept silent, even as he realized that Patrius could only be here, a few hours' ride from the border between Farsala and Kadesh, because of him.

Patrius sighed. "Why are you leaving? I'm not going to accept that you're _really_ here for the extra paperwork."

Unbidden, Jiaan grinned. The only down time a commander ever really got was when he did paperwork—tedious, boring paperwork. Jiaan avoided doing anything more than battle reports; anything more extended into politics, something he had become notorious for avoiding. "No, I'm not."

Jiaan pondered on what to tell his friend. He felt reluctant to reveal the entire story, even to Patrius. "Farsala needs me," he said instead. There would be a time when he would tell the truth, but it wasn't now. It felt a little ridiculous to make such a mad sprint home based on a broken string of letters, and he was certain it would seem that way to Patrius. But no matter how much he had tried to dispel this disturbed feeling in his heart, Jiaan couldn't.

It was the real reason why he was going to Farsala.

Patrius looked at him, his piercing gaze thoughtful. "I suppose I'll have to explain why you suddenly disappeared from your five-year term," he remarked after a moment.

Jiaan felt relief lighten his heart. "Thank you," he said gratefully. He was leaving the Hrum with the knowledge that he might not be able to return to his post, and he knew that he still had much more to learn. Patrius's reassurance lifted that sense of loss from his shoulders.

They both rose to clap each other on the back. "I will miss you, Patrius."

"And I you, Jiaan."

Without another word, Patrius exited the tent.

Jiaan left not a mark later. Siddas had mentioned a town a few days from Mazad where he would meet with him—he should be able to make it there unnoticed by week's end.

He urged Rakesh forward.

* * *

Surprisingly, they made it a day before week's end—although Rakesh was getting older, he was still a great horse. Something about being in Farsala again had picked up his hooves, because Jiaan felt like he had to stop Rakesh more often than urge him forward. Though, Jiaan couldn't say that Rakesh was the only one happy to be back in Farsala. It was a blessing to speak Faran on the road instead of Hrum, and just seeing the familiar landscapes instead of the mud in Kadesh was heartening.

The town that Siddas had picked was quaint and small, but bustling with life. It was called Tenafon, barely a dot on any map—why Siddas chose to meet here was a mystery, but Jiaan found him within an hour of wandering the town's shops and its single inn. He had just finished settling Rakesh in the stables when he saw a familiar silhouette talking amongst a group of three men.

"Siddas!" Jiaan called out, walking towards him. The man turned, and Jiaan grinned. The ex-captain of Mazad's guard hadn't changed in the last four years—in fact, the worry lines accumulated during the siege on the walled city had smoothed over to make him look younger.

"Jiaan, it's good to see you." Siddas returned the smile, clasping hands with him. The men he had been talking to had turned as well, their conversation falling silent at the sight of him. It was only a moment, but Jiaan felt as if he was being checked against some unknown set of standards, before Siddas said to them, "This is him."

"He doesn't look like it," one of them commented with derision. He was a middle-aged, bearded man whose black hair identified him as a deghan. He stood haughtily, muscular arms crossed in what Jiaan guessed was an attempt to intimidate. Jiaan spared a glance at himself—his plain Farsalan tunic, trousers, and muddy boots made him look like any other Farsalan. But with another look at the man's embroidered green tunic, Jiaan had to suppress a flash of irritation. Deghans no longer ruled, Kavi had written to him, but apparently, they hadn't lost their sense of superiority in the stupidest of things.

"He could be my son!" another exclaimed—this one was an older, also muscular man whom, to Jiaan, upon realizing his height, didn't seem as tall as he should have been. The exclamation hadn't been meant to ridicule, but the same amount of cynicism and a large amount of patronization set Jiaan on guard.

But then, upon closer inspection, Jiaan recognized the third man—"Hosah!" he said with surprise, even more confused upon this turn of events. The boy Aram had promoted to squad leader in the desert seemed so out of place in this inexplicable situation, freckles and youth and all. Hosah, who hadn't grown much since the war, grinned uncertainly in response, and they clasped hands.

"This is him," Siddas repeated firmly. It was fleeting, but Jiaan sensed contempt in Siddas's voice. "He led the army four years ago."

"Siddas, what's going on?" Jiaan asked, eyes narrowing. He didn't like surprises, and this one didn't seem like it was going to make them any more likeable. If it was about his command in the war four years ago, he wasn't looking forward to any unwanted recognition. Similarly, he had battled with this type of condescension too often to charge into it with the foolhardy intention of proving these two wrong. Besides, he didn't need to prove that he had commanded four years ago. It was a fact. However, what made Jiaan cautious was that Siddas had obviously left him in the dark about more than a few details, starting with who these people were, and what, exactly, Jiaan had been getting himself into when he came to Tenafon.

Siddas shook his head—it was a small motion, almost unnoticeable, but it was there. "Come, let's sit down first," Siddas said, gesturing towards the inn. "We have a lot to talk about."

It didn't take long to find a room in the inn—not many people would go out of their way to visit a small town like this, it seemed. It was small for all five men, but spread out like they were, it still had the atmosphere of a meeting. That was what it was, Jiaan realized, a meeting—but of whom, and for what?

"How much has Kavi told you about our relations with the Suud?" Siddas asked suddenly.

Jiaan contemplated his reply carefully, wary of how the two men he didn't recognize continued to stare at him. "The Suud have closed their connection with us, and all people going into the desert are never seen again." He hadn't received this sort of treatment since serving under Soraya as a bastard son, and its return wasn't welcome. Hosah offered him a weak smile when his gaze landed on him, but the man's body seemed lined with tension.

Jiaan turned to Mazad's governor and asked again, more tersely, "What's going on?"

Siddas was silent, overcome by something, Jiaan didn't know, but he wanted answers—_now._ Being thrown blind into a situation he had no control of, much less an inkling of what was going on, agitated him. Searching Siddas's face, Jiaan's only answer was through the governor's eyes, which were requesting he be prepared for what was to come—and behind that, an apology.

Jiaan's building fury faltered and cooled, as he slowly understood the meaning behind Siddas's apology: this was a test—one that he had to pass.

The middle-aged man snorted scornfully from the other side of the room. "Is that all you know? Maybe you should just go back with your Hrum _friends_ for all of the use you'd be here. You, a peasant bastard son, leading us?" He spat on the floor.

Jiaan went deadly still.

"Hassir, he hasn't been in Farsala for over four years. Of course he wouldn't know anything," the older man said placatingly, "although I don't see much point in calling this boy to organize us. The desert barbarians don't even know how to use swords." He chuckled in amusement.

_Hassir._ Jiaan remembered the name from Kavi's letters, and it dawned on him who these people were. He didn't remember Hosah being mentioned as part of this fiasco, but with a little more thought, he understood.

_The leaders of squads patrolling Farsala's borders are a _noble_ deghan and some old commander—Hassir and Ithrum, I think their names are. Never heard of either of them. Armies or no, Hassir insists on only deghan volunteers, or else he won't command. He has that witless idea that peasants can't fight! That _idiot_ can fight, sure, but when will it get through his thick skulls that deghans don't rule anymore? Our people will fight for their own country, and do it better than they ever did! _

His fists clenched as he took in Hassir. The deghan stared him down, belittling him for his peasant blood. Yes, there was no doubt, even though nothing had been said about Ithrum's character. Slowly, the pieces were coming together, and Jiaan didn't like what he was coming to understand. After another look at Siddas's contemptuous expression, Jiaan exhaled forcefully before facing the two deghans.

"Neither of you have any right to say anything," Hosah snapped angrily. "Commander Jiaan freed Farsala from the Hrum, you ungrateful—"

Jiaan rose, silencing Hosah, and said evenly, "I am Commander Jiaan. Commander Hassir, Commander Ithrum, it is a pleasure to meet you." The words tasted like bile on his tongue, but he managed to keep his tone neutral.

Both Hassir and Ithrum seemed to be taken off guard by his sudden switch to formality, but both of them straightened in their seats. However, Hassir's gaze was still hardened with spite, and something else, Jiaan realized: this man hated him.

Nevertheless, Jiaan continued with his façade of civility: "The Councilherd has told me that you, Hassir, command the guard who patrol the area west of Desafon, and that you, Ithrum, patrol the area south of Setesafon." He cut a look at Hosah. "You must command the group that guards the Kadesh border." Hosah nodded in confirmation, and dread lodged itself in Jiaan's throat. If all of these were true, then there would only be one reason why this situation had been set up.

"That is correct," Ithrum said, slightly surprised. Hassir looked as if he had just smelled something rotten, and scowled.

Jiaan turned to Siddas. He must have seen something in Jiaan's searching gaze, because he inclined his head once. _It's as you think_. Mazad's governor spoke finally, "The Council wants you to take command of all three armies, and become the commander of Farsala's army to defend against the Suud."

Jiaan swallowed thickly.

"There isn't anyone else to take on this position," Siddas continued. "You're younger than our current commanders, but you've learned from the Hrum. You haven't been here in the last four years, but you served as Sorahb's right-hand man to free Farsala. You don't have your own army, but the men that fought with you four years ago will fight again if you command." Siddas's eyes bored into Jiaan's. "You're level-headed, and I trust you to get the job done."

Jiaan's entire being felt like it was being weighed down with lead. If he was sure of one thing in this situation, it was that he didn't want to lead an army, especially against the Suud. They had _helped_ the Farsalans win the war against the Hrum!

"I need to think about it," Jiaan said.

"Of course he wouldn't want to do it. He's just a boy, and a peasant boy at that," Ithrum said, waving his hand in dismissal. "He shouldn't have even been asked."

"I agree," Hassir said with disdain. "He hasn't been in Farsala—or even _been_ a Farsalan—ever since he joined the Hrum. As far as I'm concerned, he has no ties with this country."

In an instant, Hosah jumped from his seat, knocking back his chair. Jiaan raised a hand, stopping him from physically advancing on the deghans.

"Commander Jiaan's got more loyalty to this country, and from this country, than you'll ever have!" Hosah shouted, fists clenched.

Hassir had risen as well, red flaring in his cheeks. "What does a peasant like you know about _loyalty_? Did you hide in your homes when the Hrum came pounding on your doors, instead of fighting? _I became a slave for this country!_" he bellowed, ripping off his tunic's sleeve to reveal the dark tattoo of a Hrum slave. Jiaan recognized it instantly as the same one from the lady Soraya's arm.

In the shocked silence that followed, Hassir stalked out of the room, his tattered sleeve fluttering to the ground. Ithrum looked at Hosah, then at Jiaan with distaste, before he too walked out the door.

Hosah's ragged breathing filled the quiet, as his fists slowly clenched and unclenched. He stared at the open doorway. "He's still got no right, speaking like that," he muttered as he placed his chair upright again and sat heavily.

Jiaan sat slowly as well, resting his elbows on his knees. So that man had been a slave—it explained the hatred. But that wasn't the main problem. Wearily, he looked towards Siddas, who had also leaned forward in his chair.

"I'm sorry, Jiaan, for throwing you into a situation like this," Siddas said apologetically. He shook his head and grimaced. "I shouldn't have sprung this on you all at once." He shook his head again, harder this time. "They came here a few marks before you arrived—sent by the Council, they said. I didn't know, but I should have talked to you first, before letting them at you. I'm sorry."

Tired, Jiaan nodded once in acceptance. "But why were they sent by the Council?"

Siddas's expression darkened. "A lot's happened since you left, Jiaan," he said grimly. "There's a power struggle and a lot of politics involved." At the incredulous expression Jiaan wore, Siddas's face cracked with a weary, bitter grin. "Even if the new Council's only just begun, there are always politics, I'm afraid.

"Once the war was over, some of the representatives that were gathered from the cities, towns, and small villages had never been given responsibility before, especially the ones from the small villages. I don't know if Kavi mentioned this to you, but it was a big mess, getting any third of them moving in the same direction—think about it, Jiaan. Over a hundred delegates, gathered in Setesafon, half of them used to letting deghans make all of the major decisions, the other half petitioning so hard for their city, town, or village, that they wouldn't budge an inch, all in one room.

"If the deghans didn't come back, maybe those who weren't used to making their own decisions would have grown into it, but it didn't work out that way. Some of the deghans that were put back into power are pleasant folk, who've lost the attitude, but others… Others were put back because some of the villages didn't know how to do anything else.

Siddas sighed heavily. "About a quarter of the Council is made up of deghans, Jiaan, and I don't know how, but I guess hundreds of years of rule brainwashed us peasants a little. They have a lot of sway, and that's how those two—" Siddas gestured at the door, where Hassir and Ithrum had left not so long ago, "—were elected as two of Farsala's armies' leaders."

Jiaan nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Kavi had told him about deghans being in the Council, but not nearly with this depth of reasoning. He supposed it would have taken a long time to explain everything that would happen within Farsala in a month, every month, and that would be the reason Kavi's letters had never delved too deep into Farsala's issues… but what if the Councilherd himself didn't know about these undercurrents?

"In better news," he said, "Kavi's alive and well, by the way, even though the Council is a mess without him. He's made it into the desert safely after meeting Soraya." Jiaan looked up, surprised and relieved.

_They're both alive, thank Azura_.

Siddas smiled at his relief. "He sends his regards, and hopes you'll consider the Council's proposition. I hope you'll accept as well, Jiaan."

Suddenly brought back to the decision he had to make, Jiaan froze. Could he take on the responsibility of commanding a nation's army? Even though he had taken command of the remnants of Farsala's army after Sendar Wall, this was different. It would be arrogant to assume that he could bring together the fractured Farsalan army and make it into a united whole—Hassir and Ithrum had made sure he understood that it wouldn't be easy. In fact, it would probably be harder than convincing Fasal. Jiaan felt the familiar twinge of regret as he remembered the young deghan's death. _But_, he thought, _at least Fasal didn't hate me. He just thought he was better than me._

Hosah looked up at him then, eyes shining with hope. "You can do it, sir. You proved you could do it in the war, and you can do it now. You aren't overconfident like Ithrum, and you respect the Suud, not like Hassir." Hosah's broad accent was overtaken by enthusiasm. "I'd be behind you. All the way."

Jiaan smiled tenuously at the last comment. Hosah's speech had revealed more than he liked. It meant if he didn't accept, there would be a war between the three army commanders for the role of commander of Farsala's army. And, if settled the deghan way, it would end in a circle drawn in the ground, and someone dead.

And, if in the end, Farsala went to war with the Suud, would the commander pause before trying to utterly obliterate the desert people, when, after all, Farsalans had been the one invading the desert tribes and killing their people? Would the commander pause to kill Soraya's family and to destroy her home? Would the commander pause to _think_, just once, this is a war that shouldn't be fought?

Jiaan shut his eyes as he rested his head on his clasped hands.

_What should I do?_

"I'll do it," he said roughly. "I'll take command."


End file.
